Scars
by Rowena Lexicon
Summary: Hermione has been left with scars after the war... Luna/Hermione. Rated M purely for the disturbing content relating to Hermione's depression.
1. Chapter 1: Death's Door

**A/N: So, weirdly enough, the idea for this Fic came to me in the shower (it'll make sense in a bit). Anyway, the pairing Hermione/Luna is a better 'opposites attract' kind of thing than Dramione any day, so I decided to write it! Please review!**

Scars

Chapter 1- Death's Door

She wasn't the only one. There were others like her, the ones who had sunk into a deep depression, long after the war had ended.

It had been this way for Hermione, ever since the initial euphoria had worn off, after the weight of what she'd done hit her.

And it had started. She'd scratch at the skin on her arms until it was red and raw and bleeding, she'd stop eating for days on end. She shut herself off. Ron and Harry couldn't help her, they worried, and she became more and more withdrawn.

And now she stood in the scalding hot water pummelling her from the shower, with her knees drawn into her chest, still scratching at her arms, a whole year after the war. An onlooker would notice the way her spine stood out vividly from the skin of her back, how her elbows were pointed and sharp. How her eyes were haunted, hollowed out from nights of lost sleep.

She drew in great, choking sobs, her whole body shaking convulsively. It never stopped. How come it never _stopped_? The pain, physical and emotional. The scars, inside and out.

Her long fingernails dug into her forearms again, drawing fresh red blood that spiralled down the drain of the shower.

No one could see her.

Ron had tried to help her. Him more than Harry, really, which was fair enough. Harry had work to do, his own ways of keeping his mind off things.

But Ron hadn't stopped, not until she'd started pretending for him, setting up a pretence of happiness. She'd smiled, and had insisted on going back to Hogwarts for her 7th year.

So that she could suffer alone.

The water was too hot, far too hot, keeping her mind off her parents, who she hadn't been able to find. Keeping her mind off Fred, who she hadn't been able to save. And keeping her mind off Ron, who she loved, but was hurting more and more every day.

She traced a pattern in her arm with a fingernail, blood staining the shape of a Dark Mark that quickly washed away.

She used magic, every day, to hide the scars. There were some on her face, too, even down her neck. She shuddered, curling tighter into a ball, letting more tears roll down her face.

Why was she like this, when so few others were? George, of course, was as bad, if not worse, and Percy, although still dignified, had a temperament that could be considered crazy. It was the tapping. The drumming of the fingers against chairs and tables. His nervously shifting eyes and his twitching fingers.

But she hadn't lost a brother.

Her parents were still alive, she just hadn't found them. So what had happened that had made the pain concentrate on her, manifest itself into her darkest memories, like a parasitical Dementor, eating away at her soul from the inside.

She got up, her legs shaking under the weight of her upper body, and, with fumbling, shaking fingers, turned off the tap. The flow of water stopped, and she immediately shivered as cold air rushed toward her. Her shoulders were hunched as she stepped out of the shower, picked up a towel and wrapped it around her.

As she hobbled into the Dormitory, her legs shaking and weak, she didn't look up. Her gaze, unfocused and pained, was pinned to the floor.

"Hermione?"

That voice, it was the voice of a flower, of a small happiness in a dark time. Ginny. Who was always smiling, thinking happy thoughts of Harry, and her family, and Quidditch.

Ginny had handled it well.

"_Hermione?" _Ginny's tone increased in urgency, as Hermione swayed uncertainly, once more unable to support her own weight on legs that looked like twigs, easily snapped.

"I'm fine," Hermione croaked.

But she wasn't. She always timed her showers perfectly, the times when she would allow herself to let got entirely, to be overwhelmed by the depression. And those times were when Ginny was gone, when she was at Quidditch practise, or when she was doing extra work for Charms.

Unable to stand any longer, Hermione crumpled to the floor, and Ginny ran over, her brown eyes wide and fearful in alarm. It was clear that she had no idea what to do.

"I'll go and get Madam Pomfrey!" Ginny ran from the room, and Hermione collapsed in on herself again, curling herself into a ball on the floor of the Dormitory. She knew she had to get up, to grab her wand and perform the charm that would convince Madam Pomfrey that she was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. But she couldn't move. The pain was paralysing.

Her eyes wouldn't close though; they stared, as though they were that of a corpse's. The thought only reminded her of the other unseeing eyes, the ones she had seen on the floor of the battle, the bodies that were still and cold.

She wasn't dead, yet. Her breathing was shallow, and almost imperceptible, but it was still there. The beat of her heart was light and fluttering, but it didn't stop.

Sometimes she wished it would stop.

How easy it would be to just let go, to just give up on this life altogether. Sometimes she wanted that so bad. Instant relief from all the pain.

She remained motionless for such a long time that her thoughts slipped into a haze; not quite sleep, she hadn't slept in such a long time that she might have forgotten what it felt like, and she ceased to blink entirely, ceased to do anything except breathe in short, sharps breaths that would never quite fill her lungs enough.

So it hardly surprising that Madam Pomfrey screamed upon seeing the curled figure on the floor, when she arrived.

"Oh, my God," Ginny was saying.

Hermione could feel cold hands along her wrists, feeling for her fluttering pulse. Then the hands moved to her face, along her neck, assessing the damage there.

"She's only just breathing," Hermione heard Madam Pomfrey say, almost calmly, but with a tremor in the cool, practical voice, "But only just. We need to get her to the Hospital Wing immediately."

Hermione closed her eyes. She was at death's door.

Finally.


	2. Chapter 2: Deception

**A/N: I hope you read it, and I hope you review as well!**

Scars

Chapter 2- Deception

No-one ever told Luna anything. She'd thought, after her part in the War, that she might have gained some respect, but no.

She was still Loony Lovegood, the one who everyone would talk about vindictively, when gossip was scarce.

She didn't normally care. She had Ginny and Neville at school, and they would stand up for her if they ever heard a nasty, throwaway comment. She was still friends with Harry and Ron, too, but they were always busy at the Ministry nowadays.

But now Hermione was in the Hospital Wing in critical condition- had been for two days- and no-one had bothered to _tell _her.

Luna had been worried about Hermione ever since school had re-started, in October. There had been a new quality to the familiar brown eyes that Luna hadn't quite been able to place, and she'd talked to Ginny about it more than once.

Ginny had been concerned, yes, but, by all appearances, Hermione had been fine. And Ginny had assured Luna that nothing weird was happening in the Dormitory or Common Room, either.

Luna couldn't blame Ginny for not telling her about Hermione being in the Hospital Wing. According to the gossips Luna had heard the story from, Ginny hadn't left Hermione's side since she'd collapsed.

But, still. Luna had only found out about the whole affair after overhearing Padma Patil and some other Ravenclaws _giggle _about it. As though it wasn't a fellow student who could _die._

As soon as Luna had heard the news, she'd rushed down the corridors to the Hospital Wing, not caring about her lessons, or any tiresome explanations.

As soon as she rounded the corner into the Hospital Wing, Luna could see that Hermione looked different. It might have been the shallow, barely healed scratches along her arms, face and neck, or it might have been the pale, unhealthy pallor of her skin, or even the way her bones jutted out from her skin, at odd, sharp angles.

This was a hell of a lot worse than the Hermione Luna had been seeing for the past eight months. What had happened?

"Madam Pomfrey says that she knows the exact spell that Hermione was using to make herself appear...normal," Ginny's voice croaked from Hermione's bedside. The red-head turned and Luna could see that she was thinner, too, with prominent shadows under her eyes, but that was most likely from the worry of the past few days.

"Is she going to...Will she be OK?" Luna asked, her own voice coming out strangely.

"They don't- they don't know," Ginny faltered, tears forming quickly, and falling just as fast, "They've contacted Ron and Harry, they're on their way. Neville popped in an hour or so ago, but he's got work to do. Speaking of which, don't you have work to do as well?"

Luna gave Ginny a pointed look before going to sit on the other side of Hermione.

"I just- I didn't know it was this bad!" she choked.

"It's been bad for all of us, Luna," Ginny said comfortingly, through her tears. Luna wasn't crying, but the sight of Hermione's cracked facade made her want to be sick, or to just curl up in a ball and block out the world. She'd always seen Hermione as a pillar of strength, of logic, in hard times, but this...It changed everything.

It was like the Hermione she'd known had died.

"Ginny...I just...Am I allowed to stay?"

"Luna...I don't think that's a good idea. You've no idea what I'm doing to myself."

"Oh, I do. I can see it in your eyes," Luna said. It was true. There was something new in Ginny's eyes, possibly the deep guilt, and hurt, of having not done anything while such terrible things were going on.

"You were always able to see, Luna," Ginny said, attempting to smile.

"I didn't see this."

"You did. You told me. But we never _did _anything! Oh, God, Luna, it's all my fault!" Ginny's voice was edging into hysteria.

"No!" Luna replied sharply, "No, Ginny don't say that! This is no-one's fault! This is just something that happened, that we've got to try and recover from."

"What if she dies?" whispered Ginny, verbalising the thought that had been swirling through Luna's head since she'd heard about the incident.

"She won't. You listen to me, Ginny Weasley, she _won't. _She will pull through. She always has done before."

Luna looked down at Hermione's vulnerability, at her face that had gone to waste, and she laced her fingers through Hermione's. That was the first time a tear escaped, and splashed onto where their hands were interlocked.

Luna raised her orb-like eyes to Ginny's, and Ginny's face was unreadable, for once. Luna opened her mouth to speak, but we interrupted by quick footsteps. Next thing she saw was Ron rushing into the Hospital Wing. He saw the two girls sitting by the bed, and he ran to where Luna was sitting, shoving her off the chair to take her place. Ripping her hand out of Hermione's.

As though he cared more than her.

Even though he hadn't even been there for Hermione, all these months. Luna felt an unexpected surge of hate for Ron, despite the fact that he was one of her best friends. Right now he was kissing Hermione's forehead, murmuring words of encouragement, as though she could hear.

"How long are you staying?" she asked Ron, with just a touch of acid in her voice. What was happening to her?

"Just a few hours. Harry and I need to get back to work. Harry's on his way. I just had to get here, quickly. I couldn't stand it...When I got the call, it was just..."

Luna could feel herself softening. Ron loved Hermione, but work commitments had been getting in the way for the past year, and she wouldn't begrudge him about it now. He'd probably only been told today, like her.

It was only a few more minutes before Harry arrived. He went straight over to Ginny, and put his arms around her; she was crying again. It was strange, she never usually cried.

_But Hermione is her best friend. And I'm not anyone's best friend, _Luna thought to herself. The four of them sat (and stood) in silence for some time, barely noticing the time passing by. It was only when Harry got to his feet that they jerked out of the stupor, and Ron kissed Hermione's face one more time before he left, his eyes misting over as he walked out of the doors.

"Luna, you should go, too," Ginny said.

"I'll leave when you leave. I'll leave when she wakes up."


	3. Chapter 3: Wide Awake

Why couldn't she just _die _already? Why couldn't the pain stop, why couldn't she just leave it all behind?

The pain was so unbearable. Worse than it ever had been.

Sometimes, though, she felt like she could have moved. Opened an eyelid, twitched a finger, anything. But she didn't. She remained motionless, hoping that eventually they'd be forced to give up on her.

"Hermione, wake up...Please."

That was Ginny's voice, the voice that distracted her from the pain, most days. She felt pressure on both of her hands, and knew that Luna was still there, too.

Why did they stay? Why did they insist on torturing themselves, holding the hands of a corpse. Because she wasn't going to live. She refused to come out of this alive.

She wondered why Neville never came. Or Harry. Or...

Ron.

Why did Ron never come back? Could he not stand the sight of her? Did he not love her? She tried to recall the feel of his lips on her face from the last (and only) time he'd visited her.

Why was the memory no longer comforting to her?

The worst thing was, she could feel herself getting better, and she knew that Madam Pomfrey would succeed, just like she had every time before.

She was lying to herself when she said she wasn't going to live. She knew that the potions that had to be injected into her would work, would bring her back to...not life, exactly, but existence.

And they'd try to 'help' her, she knew it. There would be counselling sessions, and rehabilitation courses, and spells and potions, just like there had been in the month after the War.

And, God, how she wished all that would help! How she wished that she wouldn't sink back into the depression, that it wouldn't all start over again, in an irreversible cycle that killed her inside.

...

It might have been days later, it could have been weeks.

Hell, it could have been months, years. She wouldn't have cared. It wouldn't have helped the way she felt in that moment.

That was the moment she realised that the pain had gone away.


	4. Chapter 4: What's Wrong?

Scars

Chapter 4- What's Wrong?

Luna was used to feeling like an intruder. As she sat in the folding chair, day after day, she contemplated how useless she was, really. Sometimes she thought Hermione wanted her there, and other times she felt so- so _hopeless._

Because Hermione was done hiding.

When she cried, Luna would hold her hand. When she woke, sweating and shaking, from a nightmare, Luna would crawl into the small, cramped bed with her, and would let Hermione curl up into her side.

But sometimes Hermione screamed.

And Luna didn't know what to do when Hermione screamed.

It was a horrible sound, it ought to have never been exposed to human ears. It was pure pain, agony ripping through the elder girl's body and tearing her to shreds. And what could Luna do but listen, try to hold Hermione down even when she shrank away, call desperately for Madam Pomfrey...

Ginny broke down. Girls in her year found her crying in the bathroom, a mirror shattered behind her and blood dripping down her hand. Harry was livid, he had stormed into the hospital and yelled at Hermione when he'd found out about Ginny, telling Hermione that it was her fault. And Hermione was in such a fragile state that she had simply cried, bewildered. And Luna had never hated Harry Potter as much as she did in that moment, stroking circles into Hermione's back, glaring at 'The Chosen One'.

In his defence, he really did love Ginny. He didn't move from her side for days, much like Luna wouldn't move from Hermione's. Except...it was different. Luna was just doing this for a friend.

It was midnight now, and Luna was stroking Hermione's sweaty hair away from her face as she tossed and turned, in the middle of another nightmare. Luna was never sure whether to wake her up or not; sometimes reality was more frightening to Hermione than the dream.

"Hermione..." she whispered in the darkness, not expecting Hermione to wake up. "Honey, it's just a dream, wake up...please wake up."

Luna shook Hermione gently, and the hospitalised girl's eyes shot open, a look of alarm covering her face.

"It wasn't real?" she gasped.

"No," Luna replied. "It wasn't real. None of it was real. You're safe here with me, okay..."

"Love you, Luna," Hermione mumbled into her pillow.

There was pause before Luna replied. Hermione obviously meant it in a friendly way...it was no big deal...

"Love you too, Hermione."

Luna heard Hermione make a sound of contentment into her pillow before rolling over to make room for Luna, as was customary. Luna slipped in between the sheets and fixed her arms around Hermione, wishing she could shield Hermione from all the evils she'd faced.

The light crept into the hospital slowly, first illuminating Harry's and Ginny's sleeping figures, before casting it's soothing glow onto Hermione and Luna. Luna yawned, removing her arms from Hermione's waist and moving to get out of the bed. She didn't expect Hermione's hand to reach out and grab her, rendering her incapable of movement.

"Don't leave me," Luna heard Hermione whisper. It was so quiet, she almost wondered if the words weren't meant for her to hear. But that would be stupid.

"I have to go," Luna replied sadly. "I've missed three weeks of school. I've got some serious catching up to do."

Luna knew that these were probably the only words that could cause Hermione to release her from the cocoon of sheets- missing school was never something Hermione would support. It made Luna want to laugh, Hermione never truly changed.

"You'll come back, though?" she asked, her voice so innocent and small that it took all of Luna's self-control not to leap back into the bed and curl up with Hermione forever.

"I'll always come back, 'Mione," Luna smiled.

"Some people don't come back," mumbled Hermione, looking away.

Luna didn't know what to say in response to that, so she pecked Hermione on the forehead and skipped out of the Hospital Wing for the first time in weeks.

She skipped all the way to the Great Hall, and ignored all the glances and whispering. She was used to it. And she knew what they were saying. Neville had told her. They were wondering why Hermione, usually so sensible and dependable, had gone off the rails. They were wondering why Ginny had gone the same way.

They were wondering if there was something more to the story.

To be honest, Luna was wondering, too. But she didn't ask Hermione, and Hermione didn't volunteer any information of her own. And that was okay. Luna knew she just needed time.

"Luna! How are you doing?" Ginny croaked as Luna went over to her bed.

"I've been better. But then again, we all have," Luna replied sombrely. "There are a lot of rumours going around, I just didn't know how to deal with them. Is Hermione doing her physical therapy?"

"Right now, yes. She was unwilling to go, but they forced her in the end," Ginny smirked.

"And where's Harry?"

"He apologised to Hermione and left. I don't really know what happened. I think Hermione started crying again."

Luna bristled, thinking of the magnitude of horrible things Harry had said to Hermione during his first visit, and the affect they'd had on the girl.

"Is she okay now?"

"She's fine, yeah. Harry left a while ago now. She misses having you around already. Is there something...?" her voice cut off abruptly and she stared at Luna questioningly. Luna raised an eyebrow in response, gesturing for Ginny to go on.

"Is there...something I'm missing...between you two?"

"What do you mean?"

Ginny seemed to take a deep breath, Luna wondered whether she was working out how to answer the question. The red-head looked Luna straight in the eye and said six words. Just six words.

And yet they were words that would haunt Luna. They were words that would sting, rip, tear at her flesh, leaving her stripped to the bone, bleeding. They were words that would torture her incessantly until she was only left with one emotion. Hope.

But at that moment she didn't know that. She didn't know how to respond when Ginny said:

"Do you have feelings for Hermione?"


End file.
